


Can You Walk on Your Knees?

by WriteByNight



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin AU, Mild Language, Sterek Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteByNight/pseuds/WriteByNight
Summary: Sterek - Merlin-flavored. Where Derek takes the place of Prince Arthur and Stiles as Merlin in their fateful first meeting.





	

Stiles entered the courtyard, eager to explore his new home even though he was nothing more than Deaton's errand boy.

“Where's the target?” He heard a haughty voice ask condescendingly.

“There, sir?” A young, tan skinned man barely older than Stiles replied, sounding uncertain.

“It's into the sun.” The haughty-voiced man remarked.

Stiles glanced the man over. He was incredibly attractive with raven hair, piercing gray/green eyes and tan skin. The man was certainly well-dressed, as well. Much better dressed than Stiles, and the brunette man the attractive man was talking to.

“Well, it's not that bright.” The brunette protested as he glanced up at the sky in confusion.

“A bit like you then?” The well-dressed man replied unkindly with a smirk growing on his lips as the knights around him laughed.

Stiles frowned as they made fun of the young man, who looked like a manservant. Not that Stiles particularly knew what a manservant looked like, but he certainly wasn't a noble. However, he _was_ better dressed than a peasant.

“I'll put the target down at the other end then, shall I?” The manservant-ish brunette asked as he nodded toward the far end of the courtyard.

“Teach him a lesson. Go on, boy.” A tall, muscular knight with dark skin and even darker eyes said, as he goaded the other knight on.

“This'll teach him.” Derek quietly said to his knights as the manservant picked up the target and began to carry it down the lawn.

“Yeah.” A handsome knight with blue eyes and a wicked smirk goaded the handsome raven-haired man on.

“Teach him a lesson.” The dark-skinned knight laughed in agreement with a devious, knowing smile and a nudge to the handsome knight as the raven haired man picked up a knife by the blade.

Stiles watched with wide, horror-filled eyes as the gorgeous knight threw the knife with all of his might at the target the manservant was struggling to carry. The target covered the manservant's face and upper torso, but his midsection was exposed, as was the top of his curly dark brown hair.

The knife lodged itself nearly dead-center in the bulls-eye and the manservant lowered it to stare at where the knife had penetrated the wood in shock.

“Hey! Hang on!” The tanned skin man shouted indignantly as he directed a stern gaze at the chuckling knights.

Stiles pursed his lips in disgust as the knight, who seemed to be in charge of the boisterous group, spread his arms wide with a cheeky grin.

“Don't stop!” He said, but it sounded more like an order.

“Here?” The manservant grunted as he walked a few more steps until he was in the shade.

“I told you to keep moving!” The knight in charge nearly shouted as he threw another knife at the target.

The manservant's brown eyes widened in fear as he hefted the target just in time for the second knife to lodge itself in the bulls-eye next to the first.

“Come on!” The raven haired knight said brightly with a wide grin that showed off two large bunny teeth that were ridiculously endearing on such a handsome face. Too bad the man was an ass. His father had always told him that people were rarely beautiful, smart and good people, but his mother had been one of the rare people who were all of the above. Stiles hadn't known many attractive people growing up in Ealdor, but he had known many kind people, so it seemed his father was right.

“Run!”

The knight shouted, and snapped Stiles from his wistful memories.

The manservant groaned and lifted the target up to cover his face as he took a few steps to his right. Another knife hit the target, luckily missing the tired brunette. The knight was an ass, but he had a hell of an arm and an incredibly accurate aim.

“We want some _moving_ target practice!” The raven haired knight called out as he laughed with the small cluster of men in armor.

Stiles' gut twisted in discomfort and anger. He'd barely arrived in Camelot and already he'd seen a man burned at the stake, a woman, who turned out to be a witch, had threatened the King, and then he'd exposed himself as a sorcerer to his new guardian. Stiles wasn't used to the level of activity that happened within the gates of Camelot. Nothing really happened in Ealdor. Certainly not on a daily basis. Sometimes, there was gossip, like when the butcher's wife was caught with a well-to-do traveling merchant. Or when the wind storm that had set fire to the crops in a nearby village suddenly changed course and left their town unharmed.

Stiles had sworn to his father that he hadn't done anything, but that had been the last straw for the man and he had sent Stiles away to Camelot to his friend Deaton, hoping the physician would be able to protect Stiles. Considering all the things he had witnessed so far, Stiles was ready to start making his way back to Ealdor.

He watched as the knight threw another knife, this one going wide of the bulls-eye and nearly missing the target completely. His heart leaped to his throat as the next knife landed to the right of the last knife and the manservant tripped and fell down.

The target rolled toward Stiles and he set his foot on it, to stop it from rolling away, and to keep the panting brunette from picking it back up.

“Hi,” Stiles said quietly and kindly as the manservant looked up at him with wide brown eyes.

Stiles looked at the handsome laughing knight and said, “Come on now, that's enough.”

“What?” The knight narrowed his grayish-green eyes at Stiles and furrowed his thick, dark eyebrows as a frown formed on his lips.

“You've had your fun, my friend,” Stiles replied warningly with a tight smile.

He had no idea what he was doing. He was completely out of his element, here, in this amazing courtyard of this enormous castle where the King ruled with a cruel, steady hand, the knights were as obnoxious as donkeys and as mean as a pack of wild dogs with their helpless prey.

Stiles hadn't been able to stand up for the accused sorcerer, nor had he been able to prevent Deaton from discovering his secret, but he'd be damned if these knights maimed or seriously injured the gasping manservant still on his knees, staring up at him incredulously.

“Do I know you?” The raven haired knight asked with a sneer as he strode toward Stiles. The manservant clambered to his feet at the other man's approach, nearly bowing at the large, handsome knight.

“Uh, I'm Stiles.” He replied, blinking in the bright sun as he offered his hand to the knight. He wasn't sure what the protocol was when dealing with knights, but it wasn't like he was confronting a lord or the King. He assumed a handshake would suffice.

“So I _don't_ know you.” the knight replied as he ignored Stiles' hand and stepped closer until they were nearly toe-to-toe.

“No,” Stiles said slowly as he stepped back and lowered his hand with an audible swallow. He hadn't forgotten the man's aim and spotted one knife still sheathed in his belt.

“Yet you called me 'friend'.”

“That was my mistake.” Stiles wrinkled his nose and clicked his tongue as he forced himself not to say anything more.

“Yes, I think so.” The knight replied with a grim smirk.

“Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass.” Stiles replied quickly, unable to hold his tongue when the knight was nearly in his face. He turned and began to walk away. He foolishly allowed himself to hope he could leave the situation before it escalated.

His blood had already begun pounding through his veins as he felt his chest swell as his fingers tingled. He fought back his magic as he thought of the man on the stake. He didn't want to be burned alive. He didn't want to imagine his father's face when he got the letter that told him his son had been burned for being a sorcerer and he was completely alone in the world; no wife, and no son.

“Or I one who could be so stupid.”

Stiles' blood boiled and he forced himself to think of his father, and how disappointed and heartbroken he would be if he found out that in his endeavor to keep his son safe, Stiles had outed himself and was murdered. He felt the heat and power dissipate slightly, enough so his fingertips cooled.

“Tell me, Stiles, do you know how to walk on your knees?” The knight asked, and Stiles turned around to face the arrogant prat.

“No.”

“Would you like me to help you?” The raven haired man asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his face scant inches from Stiles.

“I wouldn't if I were you.” the sorcerer said hotly, almost as a warning, as he glanced over the man's face. Stiles' hands nearly vibrated with power, but he fought to rein in his magic.

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” The knight said with a smile that exuded confidence.

“You have no idea.”

“Be my guest!” The guard's stormy green eyes crinkled at the edges as his grin widened. “Come on! Come on! Come oooooon!” He spread his arms and jeered at Merlin, a challenge in his eyes as he leered over the sorcerer.

Stiles' own eyes narrowed as he fought back his magic and threw a decent right hook at the arrogant ass's face, but the man caught his arm, twisted it, and pinned it to his back. The knights shouted as the raven haired guard forced Stiles to bend over, and leaned over his back. Stiles' face flushed as the man's groin pressed against his ass and realized part of the reason his face was so hot was accepting the humiliation of being bested so easily.

“I'll have you thrown in jail for that.” The knight remarked mildly like he had people thrown in the dungeons all the time.

Stiles grunted before replying snappishly, “Who do you think you are, the King?”

His arm was pushed further up his back and his muscles screamed in pain. Stiles fought to remain upright, refusing to sink to his knees in front of the whole courtyard. Especially in front of the handsome man pressed to his back.

“No. I'm his nephew, Derek.” The _Prince_ replied haughtily, and Stiles could nearly hear the royal ass's smirk as a sudden kick to the back of his knees sent Stiles sprawling onto the dirt and moss-covered cobblestone of the courtyard with a grunt.

Well, fuck. So much for keeping his head down and staying safe.


End file.
